


Ever Suspicious Thorin

by neverlandlumos



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverlandlumos/pseuds/neverlandlumos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s no secret the King must be protected, kept warm and well fed. Thorin is the former and the latter. Somehow it’s up to Bofur to keep him warm, and in turn, brings up things from the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> neverlandlost.tumblr.com

It was a long, weary day for the company. Those ready for bed groaned with some kind of relief as they fell into their bed rolls, curling around one another or deep into their blankets as the night robbed the air of warmth. The fire, surrounded by those still finishing their meals, was roaring and its warmth ran deep, helping relieve sore and tired muscles strained from the journey.

Thorin was absent from the camp, Bofur noted, but did not question his disappearance further. He enjoyed the thick, hearty stew that Bombur had cooked them for dinner that evening, and for the first time in a long span of nights, the dwarves were able to help themselves to second servings.

Balin cleared his throat, and called out to his companions, forcing them to give him their full attention. Fili raised an eyebrow, Balin was not one to address the company like their leader, but Bofur noted there was no challenge in the heir’s eyes.

“Look, lads, this has been a long journey, and we are all tired. But we have to remember our service to the King. When on watch, make sure he is warm and fed, and such.” Balin says, his voice lowered in case Thorin returned unexpectedly. Several of the dwarves looked over their shoulders, eyes shifting as though talking of a taboo subject that no one wanted to be caught having.

“By, warm, Balin. You mean, warm when he sleeps, I assume,” Dwalin questioned sharply, frowning. “I cannot imagine the King wanting us to treat him like a maiden.”

FIli and Kili looked scandalised at the mere suggestion.

“Obviously, you two are out of this conversation,” Balin added hastily, gesturing to them with a brush of his hand. “You boys get some shut-eye, then. Recover your strength.” The brothers nodded and wandered over to their bed rolls, talking amongst each other, making quick Inglishmek signs and laughing at their own jokes.

Balin sighed, but pressed on. “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, look, I don’t know, lads, I am too old for this. He does not sleep, and he is stubborn. I am worried, should he fall asleep in battle.” He shrugs, and grabs his dinner.

“If I may suggest something,” comes the timid voice of Ori. The company, minus the snoring brothers, look up and shrug. “Sure,” Gloin says, “anything goes.”

Ori gestures a hand in Bofur’s direction, and Bofur feels his cheeks warm with blush. “Bofur… surely you wouldn’t mind… just keeping him warm…” he trails off, forcing the group to look at Bofur confusedly. Bofur chuckled nervously, unaware the younger dwarf knew of his past ‘relationship’ with the exiled King and swore vengeance upon Ori when the were next alone.

“Bofur?” Balin asks, “What does he mean?”

Bofur clears his throat. “I, uh… many, many years ago, Thorin and I - uh, slept together, a few times. I’m talkin’… eighty or ninety years ago, surely, now. And um, you know… we were quite young…” he trailed off, extraordinarily focused on the remainder of his dinner.

There is an unnerving silence around the camp and Bofur looks up to see the shocked faces of his counterparts. Bilbo’s eyes are raised to the point they almost reached his hairline. “Thorin’s… gay?” Bilbo asks, with a surprised face and shrugs. “Wouldn’t have thought.” He adds, smirking at Bofur.

“I wouldn’t say that, laddie. Some dwarves just aren’t particularly picky in that area, due to the limited amount of women in our race. Thorin, when he was younger, before the falling of Erebor, was quite, uh - frisky.” Balin explains, “Wasn’t one for a long relationship, that’s for sure.”

Dwalin claps his hands loudly, and Bofur jumps at the unexpected sound. “Well, that’s sorted, ay? Bofur, go cuddle the King,” he commands, and stomps off to his own bedroll. Bofur sits silently, cursing inwardly, nerves prickling under his skin at the thought of being close to Thorin again. It wasn’t something he often thought about, but now, well - the images were stuck in his brain for good. Sure enough, Thorin returned from scouting the area, and looks around quickly for his nephews alongside the cave wall, sharing blankets, Kili’s arm curled around the elder’s waist.

“Whose watch is it?” Thorin asks Balin, who states it’s Bilbo’s, being the easiest time of the night, his senses not trained to decipher the different sounds of the night. Thorin nods and takes the bowl of stew from the dwarf and sits next to Bofur in front of the fire. Bilbo eyed him with a smirk, face going slack when Thorin raises an eyebrow at him questionably. The King turns to Bofur, who makes a show of finding his pipe and filling it. He offers Thorin a small smile around the piece before lighting the end and inhaling.

He takes several puffs before summoning the courage to speak to Thorin about the current issue. “Uh, you didn’t want to get some sleep, at all King?”

Thorin reaches out and takes the pipe from Bofur’s hands, eyes flickering up and watching the halfing across the fire. He inhales the pipe weed and returns it, saying, “I am not weary.”

“But, maybe you should lay down and rest for a bit, my King. Recover some of your strength.” He pushes, and he bites his lip nervously. Thorin’s eyes have him pinned, as though attempting to understand the double meaning behind Bofur’s words. As though looking to see through him, if his concern and kindness is genuine.

In a truly daring move, Bofur places his hand on Thorin’s lower back. “We are just concerned, Thorin, we mean no offence,” He whispers to the exiled king, “just concerned, is all.”

Thorin purses his lips and continues eating, but Bofur does not remove his hand. Very slowly, he rubs his palm up and down, in a coy attempt at soothing.

“I suppose I should rest, some,” Thorin concedes, his voice tight. “If it were to put your mind at rest.”

Bofur offers him a broad smile and nods eagerly. He watches as Thorin shuffles back, leaning against the cave wall also, still close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. Bofur lets out a small sigh, knowing that Thorin will not sleep in this position, and will not rest either. Bofur looks over the fire nervously, at the halfling who was currently conversing with Ori, who seems rid of sleep too.

“You are still close to the fire, my king,” Bofur states.

Thorin looks over to him, frowning. “What of it?”

“You are cold.”

Thorin sighs. “No, I’m not.”

Bofur narrows his eyes at him. “I don’t believe you,” he declares, and he hears Bilbo and Ori chuckle at their conversation before turning away awkwardly.

“That is unfortunate,” Thorin replies, crossing his arms.

Bofur takes the opportunity while he sees it, and moves back to sit next to the king, their shoulders brushing. Thorin cracks one eye open and turns his head to look at Bofur suspiciously. “What is it you seek, Bofur?” he asks, beginning to sound annoyed and Bofur licks his lips nervously. “Uh, nothing,” he responds lamely. He looks away, but trails his eyes down the posture of the king. If Bofur could wrap his arm around Thorin’s back and tug, slightly, the older man would roll and rest against him.

Bofur moves away from Thorin and lays next to him, still within arms reach. He offers his pipe to the king, who takes it from him with a raised eyebrow. Bofur smiles at him unconvincingly, to which Thorin just shakes his head and leans back on the wall and closes his eyes.

He forces his heart to calm some in his chest as he gathers the strength to reach out and slip an arm around Thorin’s waist. Thorin grunts, and his entire body tenses, entirely rigid and Bofur moves his body to accommodate the king’s alongside his own. He rests a tentative hand on the back of Thorin’s head and guides it to rest upon his shoulder. Bofur removes his cap and shoves it under his own head as a pillow and he winds his right up under Thorin’s to rest on his waist.

Thorin growls under his breath, his voice annoyed as he says, “what are you doing? I am no maiden.”

The hand that rest on the back of the king’s neck slips under the long hair and rubs actual skin. He drags his knuckles over the top of his spine and repeats. “Helping you sleep,” he states, voice more confident than he feels. “Sometimes this can help.”

Thorin grunts, but does not move away from him. He relaxes slightly in Bofur’s arms, his head falling backward slightly, and Bofur shifts so Thorin’s head rests in the nook of his neck. The king takes a deep breath, and Bofur can feel the strain of the other dwarf’s ribcage as it presses against his own. He moves his right hand that rest on his waist to Thorin’s arm, and moves it so it is curled around his own waist. Thorin tenses, and relaxes.

“It has been a long time since we have indulged in acts like these, Bofur,” Thorin states.

Bofur chuckles. “Amongst other things,” he says, his tone playful. He waggles his eyebrows at the King when Thorin raises his head to look him in the face. Thorin rolls his eyes, and gives a small smile. Then, shortly after, Bofur notes with a smile, falls asleep.

fin.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> neverlandlost.tumblr.com

“So…” Bilbo begins conversationally, trotting alongside Bofur on their ponies. Bofur glanced at the hobbit with raised eyebrows. “Yes, Master Baggins?” he asks, and Bilbo takes a delayed breath, his cheeks flushed pink.

“So… you and Thorin?”

“Why are ya getting so worked up over a question like that?”

Bilbo shrugs. “Hobbits don’t really talk about their sexual activity much. Especially not same-sex couples.” He explains. “We’ve been taught that it’s private and embarrassing.”

Bofur barks out a laugh that draws the attention of the others ahead of them. Waving them off with a hand, he replies with a smirk, “Oh some dwarves can be like that, lad, but not many. As Balin said the other day, some dwarves use aren’t picky with which gender they prefer. No harm done, aye?”

The hobbit nods in agreement, his face and tips of his ears still a flushed pink. Bofur gives him a broad smile. Well, if the hobbit wanted to talk about it -

“Thorin and I were quite young, lad. About Fili and Kili’s age I’d say. We spent a lot of time together, we were together for a while, before the falling of Erebor.” Bofur informs him, and the dwarf clears his throat. “You interested in Thorin or something, lad?”

Bilbo shakes his head quickly, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “No! No, not at all. Just interested in, you know, what it’s like to be a dwarf… your customs and stuff.”

Bofur chuckles, patting Bilbo on the back gently. “I was only playing with ya, laddie. I know you’re not interested.”

They trudge along in silence after that, Bofur lets his thoughts wander to the times when he and Thorin were intimate. Thorin, when in the right mood, was something extraordinary. Not only would Bofur force orgasms out of the future king, but also long and deep rumbles of laughter, small smiles with soft eyes. Sure, he has held the exiled king in his arms in the after-glow of passion, felt his heart beat close to his own and kissed him to compliancy, Bofur will never forget the twinkling in Thorin’s eyes after his bout of laughter ceased, when his body was entirely relaxed and comfortable in Bofur’s arms.

He snaps out of his own thoughts when he realises the hobbit as asked him a question, and guessing by the look on his face - has asked several times. “Sorry, Bilbo,” he apologises, “lost in my own thoughts for a minute there. Could you ask again?”

“How long were you together?” Biblo watches his face carefully, as if checking to see if Bofur has clearly heard him this time. Bofur thinks about it for a long minute, and shrugs. He rubs his chin in a gesture of thinking before answering, “I honestly cannot remember. I’ll ask Thorin.”

“No! No! I don’t want him thinking I’m prying in his personal life,” Bilbo stammers.

Bofur raises an eyebrow. “But you are.”

“I don’t want him to know that, though!” Bilbo says, his arms flailing.

Bofur murmurs softly to his pony, guiding her along the winding road carefully as he makes his way to Thorin. Thorin acknowledges him with the turn of his head, and Bofur gives him a lazy smile. He looks behind himself and sees that Bilbo has kept up with him and pushes gently on the neck of Bilbo’s pony to guide her alongside his own.

“King,” Bofur begins, and Thorin grunts in response. “Ye know, when we were a couple, how long were we together?” He asks, attempting to be nonchalant. Thorin eyes the other dwarf suspiciously, and much to Bilbo’s surprise responds with a grumbled, “Not sure. Ten? Twelve?”

Bofur nods thoughtfully, “that does sound about right,” he agrees clapping the exiled king on the shoulder. He turns to Bilbo and mouths ‘happy?’ but smiles. Bilbo frowns at him, “ten or twelve what? Months?” he asks, and both Bofur and Thorin scoff at him. Thorin glances over at the halfling, his face as blank as always. “Years, burglar. Ten or twelve years.”

Bofur barks out another loud laugh, after Thorin is led aside by Balin for a quick word. Thorin commands his nephews to scout the area for any signs of unwanted trouble, and upon their return, sensing no danger, allows the company to unload their ponies and ready themselves for dinner once again.

“But, that’s ages!” Bilbo exclaims, “I thought he wasn’t one for long relationships!”

“It’s not,” Bofur explains, rolling his eyes. “Long relationships for dwarves are about fifty to one hundred years, laddie. Ten to fifteen is not long for us at all, romantic wise.”

Near him, Gloin passes Thorin a steaming bowl of stew, which is filled to the brim. The exiled king gives his thanks and sits on a log arms length from his nephews, who, as per usual are laughing at their own inner jokes, relentlessly moving their hands and cackling, only falling silent when the older dwarves glare over their shoulders at their noise.

Bofur takes a seat next to Thorin, whose eyes shift over the company. Thorin watches the amount of food each dwarf has in their serving, looks over their postures for any injury without approaching any of them. He exiled king stands, and Bofur’s eyes follow his back as Thorin walks over to Nori and tips some of his own stew into Nori’s bowl. He can hear Nori’s protests as such, but Thorin silences him shortly after, makes sure Nori eats the remainder and walks back over to Bofur.

“Very kind of you, King.” He comments, “You know it’s hard for us to accept things like that. We are meant to give you our food and such.”

Thorin grunts, and eats the rest of his dinner. “I am aware, Bofur. Does not please me in most cases, however.”

For a long while, most of the company is silent, ready to sleep in their bedrolls. Dwalin calls out, “Thorin, we’ll wake you for your watch. Sleep.”

Bofur smirks as Thorin purses his lips and gives a small nod. He looks around the camp, blinking slowly when he sees Bofur has moved several meters away. He jerks his head to the left, inviting the king to lay beside him if he wished. Thorin gives his eyes are rub with the back of his hand, but crouches and settles next to Bofur, noting that he has unrolled his bedding for him.

Bofur rolls on his side, resting his head on his elbow and looks down at the king. Thorin breathes deeply, and evenly, eyes fluttering open when he notices Bofur is staring down at him. His eyebrows form a small frown, but his face falls back to its usual blank slate. Bofur leans down and presses a kiss to Thorin’s cheek, and holds himself there until he feels the dwarf relax under him. When he pulls away, he smiles down at the king’s face, brushing the pad of a finger over his bottom lip. Thorin begins to doze during Bofur’s petting, he just waits for the king to fall asleep with a cheeky grin.

—

Thorin complains loudly to Gandalf about everything he sees in Rivendell, and to be honest, Bofur doesn’t really blame him. Everything is so difficult here - steps deep, chairs and beds high, and everything takes effort to move around. Bofur even notices the dwarves are practically yelling at each other in attempt at conversation over dinner - the tables are very wide, and very long.

It’s not something he has ever hidden, or hidden well, but Thorin does not like being told what to do. Does not take commands from others lightly, unless it is someone he considers worthy of superiority. Which leaves very few people in the world as they know it. As it is, Thorin does not like Elves, and elves think they are the wisest. Thorin has always stood by his defence, he was betrayed at the lowest of his own strength, his people fighting a failing war, which he vehemently believes they would have won had Thrandriul intervened. Several dwarves have explained that the elf king put the safety of his own people before any one else’s, but Thorin would shake his head and ignore their comments.

The exiled king today is very grouchy. Bilbo has learnt to keep his distance, having been taught the hard way. The company are gathered at a dining table, which is much smaller and suited to their heights - possibly a table used for child-Elves, Bofur mused -

and is plentiful of food that dwarves themselves would enjoy eating. Gandalf is standing away from the company, in deep conversation with the elf introduced as ‘my Great Lord Elrond’. He remembers Thorin’s grumble of laughter at the title and scoffed when Dwalin asked if they were to address him as such.

Balin suggests that they wander around Rivendell and view the sights the city can offer them. Most of the company look to Thorin, and his reaction, and the king is silent for a few minutes before nodding. Most of the younger dwarves gush excitedly over the beautiful waterfalls and cliff sides around them, taking off their boots and dipping their feet into the cool, clear water. Gloin, Oin and Balin sit comfortably on the bank, chatting amongst themselves and laughing whenever the younger dwarves attempt a swim, barely managing a dog paddle.

Bofur jerks his head up from where he has cushioned it on his folded arms when he hears Bilbo yelp loudly, and laughs when he sees Nori dunk him under the water. Albeit slightly concerned the dwarf might accidentally drown the hobbit with his strength, Bilbo wriggles under the water and manages to pull Ori under the water and out himself. Bofur looks on with a smile and reaches for his pipe. He looks around him and he fills and lights it, relaxing when he catches sight of the King who is stony-faced while conversing with the elf and Gandalf.

Thorin departs the conversation and scowls once his back is turned. He addresses the company loudly, “we will rest here for the night, Gandalf believes that it would be wise. There are two rooms for us, only. Bunk with whom you wish, and do not disturb each other, this is one of the only places we can have safe rest,” Thorin commands, “if safe is the correct word, that is,” he finishes, more to himself than the company.

Not long after, the dwarves are led by an elf escort to their rooms, Thorin ushers Bofur, Fili and Kili who lagged behind into the second room when the elf speaks, “Thorin, it is my orders that you and your heir have their separate rooms.”

Fili begins to protest, but Thorin silences him with quick Inglishmek.

“Why?” Thorin asks sharply.

“Out of respect, King.”

“My heir is a partner of brothers. I am not going to separate them,” he replies.

The elf bows his head. “As you wish.” He gestures Fili and Kili to a room directly opposite. Fili signals to Thorin that he is thankful and grateful, then disappears past the door, pushing Kili in first. “This is your room, King.” Another gesture of the hand shows Thorin his bedchamber for the evening. Thorin gives the elf a small nod in return and frowns, eyes suspicious when the elf turns and walks out of the corridor and out of sight.

“Halfling, choose your place of sleep,” the exiled king commands, growing impatient. Bilbo nods and quickly follows after Nori, looking behind him at Bofur. Bofur gives him a tight smile, and turns to say goodnight to the king when Thorin cuts him off.

“Come, Bofur.” Thorin turns and walks to his room, leaving no room for argument.

Bofur scuffles across the corridor, pointedly ignoring Gandalf’s knowing smirk before he too, turns and disappears down the path.

As he steps through, he turns and shuts the door behind himself, nerves drawn tight and his breath slightly shallow. He has no idea why Thorin has summoned him here, though the thought of intimacy lays heavy in the back of his mind - but, alas, Thorin does not seem to be in the mood for such acts during the quest. Bofur does not blame him. However, the King is not a chatty lad by nature, so conversing with him, here seems pointless considering their fatigue.

“Sit,” Thorin commands softly, removing his fur coat, underlying jackets and tunic. He snaps the clasp of his belt open and pulls the chain mail over his torso and places it on top of the pile. Bofur licks his lips nervously and clears his throat several times. “Uh, Thorin - did you, uh, need something?” He asks, eyes roaming the body before him obviously when the king’s back is turned. Thorin does not respond, just kicks off his boots and vembraces, leaving him in his underclothes.

When the king approaches him Bofur swallows loudly, causing Thorin to chuckle. Bofur smiles up at him from where is he sitting and releases a groan behind gritted teeth when Thorin places heavy hands on his shoulders and kisses his cheek firmly, Bofur closes his eyes when the king’s hand holds his neck - keeping his head steady as he dips his head and presses his lips against Bofur’s own.

Bofur is no young lad, nor he is he an inexperienced tween, yet Thorin’s presence and touches set his body alight, tightness in his groin stirring, his lips tingling where they meet. Thorin shifts against him, and tilts his head up by the chin to kiss him deep. Bofur moans, clutching the king’s hips with greedy hands, pulling him closer and bending his neck back easily as their kiss deepens. When Thorin’s tongue curls around his own, his hips give a small traitorous snap upwards as a coil of pleasure shot down his spine. Bofur’s mind was clouded with the acts of years ago and today. It was wild, kissing Thorin like this again, after so many years that separated them.

The exiled king pulls back, but not far, his breath coming out in small pants as he rests his forehead against Bofur’s own. Thorin steps away from the other dwarf and gestures to his body, lazy Inglishmek, signalling him to undress and follow his king.

Thorin curls his lip in distaste at how high the bed is perched, but climbs up and on top of the covers anyway. Bofur strips to his underclothes quickly before joining his king, groaning at the softness of the mattress, an unexpected but oh very welcome - comfort they all needed. They both lay in complete silence for a while, but Thorin grows tired of waiting and rolls on top of Bofur, his legs spread out and over Bofur’s hips, hands holding his weight alongside his head.

His hat is pushed off, and to the side, as Thorin kisses him again, hips rocking up against his king who groans and bites his bottom lip. Bofur’s pulse races when Thorin traces his tongue under the swell of his ear, an old trick that Thorin learnt from their younger days, his breath hitching as the king bites down upon the sweet area and Bofur bucks his hips, digging his fingers into Thorin’s muscular thighs.

He slips his hands under Thorin’s shirt and pulls it over his head and rubs his palms over the strong plains of muscle and gently massages the dwarf’s back, pressing his fingers into the ridges underneath his shoulder blades. Thorin groans and licks his lips. Bofur takes the opportunity to flip the king onto his back - who went along quite surprisingly. His hair splayed across the pillows and Bofur smiled at the sight. He tugs his own shift off quickly before bending and kissing the king.

Bofur caresses the strong jaw of the king as he kisses him, flicking his tongue over the other’s and over his teeth. Thorin groans when his tongue rubs over the roof of his mouth and repeats all the while stripping them both so they are entirely naked. He pulls away from Thorin then, to catch his breath and blink rapidly to clear his mind and focus on the dwarf beneath him.

“Did - did ya wanna…?” He asks hesitantly but waggles his eyebrows at the king.

Thorin’s head falls back onto the pillow with a chuckle, “Why else would I undress myself so? And take you to my bed?”

Bofur gives a playful shrug while his fingers trail over the pronounced hip bones and thighs. His own arousal is extremely apparent, he has not been so taken with his bed-partner as he has with Thorin young or older. It seems that his king knows this, his eyes watching Bofur knowingly, and pulls him closer to his body with strong arms. Thorin’s lips are pressed close to his ear as he says, “let’s get this going, then shall we?”

Bofur fumbles around the dresser next to the bed awkwardly hoping there’d be some kind of lubricant. To his almost horror, there is which makes him think of its use and why it’s even there. He pulls a midly disgusted face that makes Thorin chuckle again, so his king reaches up and caresses his cheek, pulling the skin so his facial expression changes.

He pours some onto his palm and smells it, just in case it was something he wasn’t anticipating, and tastes a dab. He looks up when Thorin laughs at his actions openly, and says in his own defence, “just making sure, Thorin, ya never know. It’s just oil with some lavender.” He places it next to Thorin’s ribcage and runs his hands over the dwarf’s abdomen. Bofur runs his hands further down, forming a loose fist around the king’s cock; fingers rubbing over the sensitive slit, pressing his thumb under the head and rubs, if he remembers correctly - this was to Thorin’s taste - and his assumptions correct when the king moans and ruts against him.

“Bofur, please,” Thorin grits out, chest heaving in his pleasure, “please, come on.”

He releases his grip on Thorin, and warms the oil between his palms, placing it back on the dresser and then returns to jacking Thorin off slowly and the other to press tentative fingers against the entrance. The king’s breath hitches as he pushes a finger inside and curls it carefully. “Yes,” Thorin moans, “oh, yeah.” Bofur prepares him with his fingers carefully, watching the body underneath his own for the signs that he ready, he bends and kisses Thorin deeply, drawing his tongue into his mouth and teasing him into a battle. Thorin bites his bottom lip harshly, and soothes the ache with a suck.

Bofur indulges in the slip and slide of skin on skin, his hand trailing over his king’s ribcage while he dips his head and presses a kiss to Thorin’s sternum. Thorin’s breath hitches slightly when Bofur settles more comfortably between his legs, comfortable in the V of his thighs.

He takes a deep breath, coating his own cock with the oil and pushes inside Thorin, who’s mouth falls open, eyes shutting as Bofur fills his body. He shifts on his knees and pushes the backs of the king’s thighs with his body, and moans himself, his head falling forward as the pleasure intensifies in his lions. He takes a ragged breath and waits for Thorin to allow him to move.

“Come on, come on,” Thorin eggs him on and rolls his hips.

Bofur pants, taking a deep breath in a lame attempt to calm himself and thrusts his hips slowly at first in and out of Thorin. The king’s back arches impressively as Bofur finds and strikes his prostate relentlessly, his bottom lip worried between his teeth to keep himself quiet. Bofur fucks him hard, but all in pleasure and does not pin him down nor does he bruise him. Thorin gasps and wilts in his grip, his strong fingers digging into Bofur’s bicep, the other tugging on the messy braid on the side of his head.

Some time and pleasure passes, and Bofur realises with a jolt he is on the verge of coming, so he wraps a steady hand around Thorin’s cock and tugs up and down. Thorin’s response is somewhat magnificent, and Bofur would be pleased if he was the only one who saw it again. Thorin is sweaty, they both are, the sex is extraordinarily intense considering, and Bofur assumes over time Thorin’s title has become more realistic, and even surprising himself tonight with his doting nature. The king’s neck is bared, in an almost elegant fashion, his body is as taut as a bow ready for combat. Bofur trails his fingers under and up his king’s back for leverage and thrusts harder when Thorin begs him in Khuzdul, tone and fingers desperate.

He continues his ministrations, biting Thorin’s nipple as he feels the king tighten around him, moving up to Thorin’s neck when he gasps out, “oh yes, Bofur, yes,” and comes, cursing deep in his throat in their native tongue, trembling as the pleasure shoots around his body and back to his groin. Bofur feels himself climax, his hips jerking and thrusting deep and languid, and somehow he forces himself to keep his eyes open as he watches the king. Thorin’s lungs appear robbed of breath, eyes rolling back into his head and flickering shut. The king straightens his back on the pillows with his eyes still closed, his jaw slack with after-glow but a smile dances across his lips. Bofur falls to his side, panting and frazzled.

“… ah, fuck.” Bofur comments lamely. “Tha’ was good.”

Thorin laughs at his comment, turning his head and facing him. “Aye,” he responds. “It’s been a long time.”

Bofur reaches forward and tugs on one of his king’s braids, which is messy and unkept. He forces himself upwards and leans over Thorin, who still lays flat on the mattress. He kisses him again, this time sweetly, and unhurried.

Bofur chuckles as he remembers a memory, and Thorin raises an eyebrow at him. Bofur pecks his lips again before asking, “remember that time Balin walked in on us?” The exiled king covers his mouth as he laughs, corners of his eyes wrinkling as he does. “Aye, I thought he was going to have a stroke.”

Bofur nods in agreement, smiling. He lays his head on his king’s chest and wraps an arm around his waist.

Thorin, the exiled King of Erebor, who may dislike Elves and their people, art, weaponry and music, will admit to anyone now, he had the best night’s rest that evening.

\- fin


End file.
